


Treasure Hunting

by Hambone



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Anal, Barbed Penis, Canon-Typical Violence, Electrocution, Large insertions, M/M, Mild Cum Inflation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Monster sex, Overstimulation, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Magerold gets in a little trouble while exploring.
Relationships: Blue Drake (Dark Souls)/Magerold of Lanafir, implied Domhnall of Zena/Magerold of Lanafir
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Treasure Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> I think people who have never been electrocuted really underestimate how disorienting and painful being electrocuted is. Therefore it's a great thing for me to have springboarded off of to write about some drake dick! Once again featuring the unfortunate adventures of Magerold and with special guest appearence of my other beloved merchant, Domhnall of Zena! I want them to kiss but not take off the helmet. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The valley was exactly where he'd been told it was. Hugging the cliff face, Magerold skirted along the side of the canyon, too giddy to be particularly careful. While he couldn't see anything quite yet, he knew they were here – he could feel it, a kind of electricity in the air. The climb had been hard, especially with his scythe strapped to his back. It had caught on the rocks more times than he'd like to admit, ringing out a metallic clang that echoed for far longer than it should have. He was lucky there didn't seem to be anyone or thing around, because his clumsy maneuvering was barely keeping him upright as it was. His heart was beating rapidly in his breast, but it wasn't due to fear.

As he progressed, things became considerably more grim, or, in Magerold’s case, exciting. Old, leathery corpses hung from the rocks, still quite well furnished in trinkets and rich costumes, albeit somewhat singed, and, best of all, weapons. It wasn't that Magerold himself was abnormally fond of war, but they were such a varied collection, from all over, painted brightly with emblems and crests of lands he’d never even heard of, engraved with names and titles foreign on his tongue. He hadn't brought his pack, which rested safely above in a hidden crevice, but he dragged everything he found up to inspect giddily, strapping what he could to his back and stuffing the rest here and there, behind bushes, under stones. He doubted many passed this way normally – he could come back for them later. At the moment, he had bigger plans.

The valley was surprisingly bright, for how deep between the mountains he had descended, lush green foliage covering everything in a dewy glow. Magerold peered down from his perch, eyes wide and glittering with anticipation as he searched for any sign of what he’d come looking for, a footprint, a scale. Insects lazily twirled about his head, occasionally alighting for a second to taste his colorful garb on the off-chance he was in fact a flower as he appeared. Up above, a bird sang a high tune ringing oddly along the stone walls. It was almost idyllic, bar a couple of humanoid bones here and there. He did love that about Lordran.

Descending towards the bridge, Magerold found the ground growing less and less even beneath his boots, the pathway crumbling into a slope that fed into the valley’s basin. He nearly lost his footing more than once, slipping down the wet grass before he caught himself on a rock or managed to maneuver onto his butt. At least the pathway was wider here, because with the added weight of his finds he was sure he'd have gone right over the edge were he just a few hundred yards behind. It didn't detract from his excitement at all. There was magic here, he could smell it. A good treasure hunter always knew, had the instinct for it. It just came down to details.

Glad to get his feet on flat land again, Magerold made it out to the grassy plain before the bridge. The air was crisp, somehow drier than up above. He could feel goose pimples forming on his arms, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. His bangs, too, he realized, reaching up to adjust his cap and noticing the shorter hairs waving out, attracted to his arm as if he’d been rubbing himself around on a wool rug. The discovery was not interesting enough to hold his attention for long, however, as out of the corner of his eye a red glint distracted him. It was a shield, round and painted brightly, laying across the bridge by another long passed corpse. Magerold perked. Whether he found what he’d come looking for, the loot he’d gathered was already making the trip worth it. With the amount of goodies he’d passed along his way here, he was shocked it wasn't a more heavily traveled road. Dangers aside, it was beautiful, quiet, and seemed largely unhampered by man or beast. Of course, he had come here to find a beast, but he was beginning to wonder if his quarry had moved on, or if he had simply come at a bad time. They must nest around here, on the cliff tops maybe. Would he have to climb?

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly and painfully. The sound hit him first, whistling like a shower of arrows let fly all at once, and then, before he could turn, something struck his back, hard. All his finds spilled to the ground in a shower of noise and metal, the strap on his back torn by a blade that just barely avoided slicing through his shoulder. The force of the blow threw him forward onto his knees, an aborted cry escaping him as the breath left his lungs. The wind came immediately after, blustering him into a roll and laying the grass flat. Magerold was not incapable of catching himself though, turning his fall into a somersault and finishing in a crouch, trying to reach for his scythe – but it had been torn off with the rest. There was a knife in his belt, if he could reach it. Before he’d managed, though, his attacker landed about twenty feet off, shaking the ground under its immense weight.

A drake, a real one, descendant of the ancient dragons, proud and strong. It turned to face him, whipping its cruel tail around like a lance. He'd been told they were blue, but Magerold had not expected to be dazzled by the rich cobalt of its scales, like unpolished gems studding armor, reflecting the beams of sunlight in a glittering aura around its body. Scrambling to his feet, Magerold took a few steps back, still trying to tug his knife free. It would do nothing against such a beast, but he wasn't here to kill it. He’d only wanted to see one, preferably without conflict. He should have been more careful, but it had come out of nowhere. He finally got the clasp undone and was immediately rewarded with a little bite of static electricity, a shock from the metal of the hilt to his fingers. Static, that was what the air smelled like.

Hissing, the drake lowered its head to his level, showing its jagged teeth in a snarl. For every step away Magerold took, the drake took two forward, hunched and menacing, its wings open in a clear display of aggression. Licking his lips, Magerold tried to keep himself looking small and non threatening. Though he’d only been knocked a little forward, the weapons he’d been holding had rolled all over the place in the collision. He was hoping he’d reach one before the drake’s patience ran out.

“Now hold on a minute, bruv, just take it easy!”

Another slow backwards pace. The drake growled, its tail waving out behind it, agitated.

“I'm not here to harm you, nothing like that.” He hoped his tone was conveying calmness, because he certainly wasn't feeling it.

“I just came a little far out of my way, didn't mean to bother you.”

His foot nudged the long shaft of a pole arm, clattering against cobblestones. He winced, but the drake didn't move, not yet.

“I can see I've disturbed things,” he laughed a little, voice cracking, “so I’ll just grab my things and leave, alright? I think we can agree on that, yeah?”

The drake continued to posture, but remained a decent distance. If he could grab up a weapon, anything, he’d have time to run. He doubted they were very fast on their feet, and wouldn't get in the air without a good start, and he was quite fit for his size. He began to crouch, never taking his eyes off it.

“Yeah, see, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

The drake snapped its jaws. Magerold dropped to the ground, grabbed the first thing he could reach – it was a short sword of sorts – and turned as he stood, already halfway into a jog. His feet cleared the majority of the pile of miscellaneous tools in one long stride, the strange whistling sound building again behind him, but he was running, fast and free, and he didn't hear its heavy footfalls behind him so he was sure he would make it, and then, and then-

Pain exploded outwards from inside him. He didn't feel like he was struck again; rather it was as if his own body was rebelling, every muscle cramping simultaneously, fire in his veins. Unable to control himself he whipped around, dropping the sword as his hands contorted, spinning as his vision went white and then he was on the ground again, wheezing for air. It had happened so quickly it was like nothing had occurred at all, as if he'd just been running and then he was on his knees, except for the ringing in his ears and the way everything felt hot and how his teeth had ground together so hard he was pretty sure he tasted blood.

Somehow, Magerold was still trying to run, turning around to make out where the drake was even if he could hardly see. It was still a ways behind him, though it was stalking closer, and Magerold tried and failed to get up several times, stumbling over his own limbs as they refused to cooperate with him. He tried to laugh, because he could not even comprehend what was done to him, but his throat was incredibly dry all of a sudden, and trying to muster the strength made his chest ache.

On his third or forth attempt he managed to stand, lopsidedly, arms loose at his sides, and began again to limp away. Things had been going so well for him, finding his treasures, getting a chance to see a real live drake – but now he just needed to escape. There was a sort of crumbling tower, up the hill. If he could just reach it, there was no way the beast would fit inside. He could regroup, catch his breath, take another shot at it.

The drake bellowed, and the whistling began, and this time Magerold looked back and saw, finally, what it was. Golden arcs of electricity jet from the monster’s jaws, building in intensity before his eyes. He had seen weapons infused with the art, and one or two priests that had mastered the miracle arts of lightning, but never had Magerold been aware of a naturally produced source like this. He gaped, heart pounding like it was about to explode, and then the light shot out and he had no time to react at all.

Magerold hit the ground, skipping a few times like a pebble thrown across a lake, before landing hard and rolling limply. His body was shaking, uncontrollably, the electricity he’d been hit with puppeteering his limbs in quick but painful spasms. He knew he hadn’t been hurt that badly, that the shot had barely grazed him, but his nerves were on fire, the lightning scuttling through him still. He managed to push himself up, nauseous, dimly noting he’d broken the mug he kept on his belt in the fall. It might have punctured him, he wasn't sure. He couldn't see very well. His monocle may have fallen. He tried to reach up to his ear, where the chain attached to a small cuff pierced through the shell, but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't work the fingers under his hood, and worse still he could hardly feel them.

The drake must have taken to the air to close the distance between them as it dropped out of the sky before him, landing hard. Dust exploded in a cloud around its feet, and Magerold had just enough sense to shield his eyes.

“No- wait-!”

He rolled onto his side, chest heaving. It hurt to breathe, to move. Their combat had lasted less than a full minute and already he was destroyed, unable to think, terrified. The drake began to plod towards him, uncaring of what he said, if indeed it could even understand. If Magerold had eaten in the past year, he would have emptied his stomach. He began to squirm back, not taking his eyes off the monster. His lips felt chapped, his mouth dry.

“Please, no more! I-I'll leave, I promise, please!”

With a low chittering sound, the drake showed him its teeth. Magerold could hear the crackling of static somewhere in its breast still, whatever horrible magic gave it such strength charging yet again. He couldn't bear the thought of taking another shock, even more so than being torn at by its cruel claws or the strength of its jaw. His eyes and nose were running, even with how thirsty he suddenly felt, catching on his lashes and the scruff of his beard.

“Please!”

It moved faster than he could crawl, stepping above him so quickly he had to lay back to avoid being bowled over, trapped under its great shining chest. He whimpered, realizing as his head hit the dirt that he’d lost his hat somewhere. The great beast hissed, jaws open as it swung its head low to look at him. Up close, the drake’s eyes were no less dark and impenetrable, ink dyed pearls that gazed at him without blinking. Magerold, beside himself, did the only thing he could, falling fully limp in submission, arms by his head, turning away his face as he sniveled. It was no Undead, not a monster created for the sole purpose of killing. It was an animal, no matter how majestic, a beast like any other. He could escape this, maybe, if he just showed he meant no harm. Its breath was hot, nearly painful to endure, the air around it sparkling with electricity.

He’d only wanted to see them. Magerold had never had any grandiose visions of conquest, no desire to harm the fantastic creatures. He’d been warned, by dear old Domhnall, the merchant above who knew so much about everything, but of course Magerold had failed to listen. He always did, always taking life in stride and escaping danger by the skin of his teeth, but never before had he been so punished for it. He shouldn’t have brought so much with him, should have waited on the cliff side, in the tall grass, made sure the coast was clear. He should have known he might have to fight. Domhnall had told him they weren’t like true dragons. They didn’t have language, or community, didn’t think like men did. They were just animals, predators.

A warm, wet weight pressed against his cheek, and Magerold started from it in shock. Immediately the drake screeched, so close his ears felt liable to bleed, effective as both a warning and a discipline.

“Oh, Lord,” Magerold muttered, his heart aching where it beat, “oh Lord, oh Lord.”

The drake licked him again, not so much tasting as feeling him out. The appendage was surprisingly prehensile, curving around his chin, tracing his jawline. Saliva mixed with the sweat and tears coating his cheek, heavy and viscous where it lay. Magerold tried his best not to flinch away, squeezing his eyes shut just as they were passed over. It stank, like burning flesh and rotten meat, something he was not wholly unused to in these wicked times but very much trained to fear. Enduring it was not easy, not when his body still burned from the shocks. Now that they had had time to settle in his veins, he could feel the pain blossoming in his muscles, where they had contracted and thrown him about, forced to squeeze down so hard his bones might have snapped, crushing himself as if cursed. He was so thirsty, but the thought of opening his mouth and risking penetration by the drake’s drool was enough to keep his lips sealed tight shut, swallowing dryly again and again.

There was a weight upon his thigh. At first it was light, almost tapping him, but then seemed to rest comfortably. It took him a while to look, still hoping to avoid retribution, but eventually the curiosity of fear got the better of him and he cracked open one eye, looking down his chest as the drake’s tongue retracted. Between its legs, from the sheathe there, extended its sex; a long, purple organ very unlike a human’s but still entirely recognizable for what it was. Magerold quailed.

“Oh, I…”

The drake snarled. He couldn't think straight.

“Why?”

Despite the futility of it, his fingers dredged up fistfuls of dirt, again trying to pull himself up. The drake didn't react at first, and so Magerold took the opportunity, flipping onto his hands and knees and beginning to scramble away.

“Oh Lord, no, I can’t-! I cant-!”

It grabbed the back of his hood between its teeth, a move that was ginger and delicate for such a monster but still harsh enough to jar him badly, the cloth pulling off his head and tight on his throat. It dragged him back, barely able to resist, mounting him from behind with a deep, bone shaking growl. The drake’s cock slid between his legs, reaching up to his navel easily. At the same time, another, stranger growl rumbled through him, tiny shocks of static beginning to collect on the unevenly shaved hairs at the back of his neck. Choking a bit, Magerold again went as limp as he could, horrified at the though of more electricity inside him, splitting his nerves apart like paper.

“Alright, alright! I’ll do anything, I will, just, please, please don't hurt me anymore!”

Whether it understood his words or not, the drake knew his body language, releasing his hood so that he could breathe easier. Magerold’s head dropped heavy, gasping, and as it did so he was able to see under himself, to the massive length that pressed against his belly. While not as big as he may have feared, it was still beyond the proportions of anything he’d taken before, textured with bulging veins and horrid looking protrusions like small, hooked quills, soft enough to bend where they met his clothing but indelicate nonetheless. The head was flat and angled, almost equine, ringed with more such spines, and while he could not see it now, he remembered, vaguely in his muddled mind, the round protuberance of a beast-like knot near the sheathe. It was an unholy thing, not meant for human eyes, but he had no choice no but to look, to know, to fear.

The drake was snuffling along his back, each inhalation crackling where it drew in air. As it did so it slowly pushed its cock against him, letting Magerold feel how hard it was, rubbing his own clothed prick and between his ass where his leggings bunched up. It was wet, making the fabric cling to him, and he wanted to squeeze his thighs together and force it out but knew better, near hysterical in his desperation to escape more pain. Curving its long neck underneath its body, the drake examined Magerold’s backside, shifting on its feet. Magerold couldn't see it, but he could hear its agitated chirring, the way its claws shrieked where they scraped against pebbles in the dirt.

It humped against him harder, drawing back so far the bulbous head of its bizarre cock nearly disappeared from view between his thighs before driving back across his stomach. With his blood already hot from the horror, the wet and firm strokes across his trapped prick were all it took to begin stirring arousal there. Magerold was beyond being able to classify any feeling at the moment as good, but the physical response came easily, and each time one of the bumps or spines along its length caught against him his hips jumped with pleasure. There was just enough soft give to the flesh that he could almost compare the feeling to a lover’s hand, cupping him indelicately in some alley somewhere, no finesse or technique but still managing to draw out the sparks in his veins. At the same time, the fear he felt hardened him in a different way, something he’d learned only after becoming Undead and traveling to these crueler lands, the knowledge that submission was better than death.

There had never been an assault like this before, but Magerold had found himself, at times, cornered by hollows, or others who still had their wits about them but no care for morals, who had wanted to satisfy whatever cravings the lingering humanity in them called for. When he could not fight, nor run, he’d learned that sometimes, more often than one might expect, to bow down, spread his legs, and present himself in total capitulation could save his life, his souls, his beloved things. While it was never pleasant, his body had grown to understand what it meant to go limp, head down, eyes averted, dread trembling in his gut, and had come to anticipate it. The unfortunate reality of this meant that on occasion, after a hard battle or a winding escape, he’d find himself catching his breath with his cock rock solid in his trousers, an awkward and humiliating reminder of what he’d come to. Even now, as the drake became more piqued at its inability to properly couple with him, he was beginning to pulse between the legs, his dick aching against the significantly larger weight of the monster.

“Please, don’t,” he whined, afraid it would go back to harming him if it couldn't find a way to satisfy this other interest. Sliding down more onto his chest, he slowly reached back to his hips. The drake, seeing his movement, whipped back and opened its beak around the back of his head, hissing loudly. It did not really bite him, but its teeth met the skin of his neck, a clear warning.

“Oh,” Magerold moaned in terror, “I’m not trying to escape, honest to goodness! I’m just- let me…”

Daring to go further, he grasped the waistband of his leggings. When no retaliation came, he began to slide them down his thighs. The fabric cling to him where the drake’s fluids had slicked them together, peeling off with an audible wet sound. When freed his prick sprung loose, flinging a few drops of precum up his stomach. The drake had paused its rutting when the cloth began to move, watching with a bird like cocking of its head while keeping his throat trapped, but as soon as his buttocks were bared it pressed between them again, much hotter and rougher on his naked skin. There was room between where he’d left his leggings around his knees and his belly for the drake to slide, and it finally released him, pleased. He begged, inside, that it was. Everything hurt.

The drake’s mucus was crackling against his backside, like every part of the monster was infused with the same electricity as its blasts. It still felt massive against him, pushing between his buttocks with the shaft and letting him feel its knobs against his hole directly. He'd been right about the spines, which didn’t quite pierce his skin but pricked ever so gently where they caught. It was better than being killed, he reminded himself, better than feeling his body cooked from the inside out by that ferocious lightning. His hands were still shoved between his legs, so Magerold took advantage of this by creeping them up to his backside. The drake didn't react when one wormed between its cock and his ass, just enough that he could press a few fingers to his hole.

Magerold was already a little loose. It wasn't his natural state – he had, perhaps fortunately in this case, visited himself there in private before leaving. His time spent with the other merchant had been titillating mentally and physically, and Magerold had grown quite fond of Domhnall. While broaching the question of sex with people in Lordran (or Drangleic, Lothric, wherever time had taken him) was always dangerous, here it held the added caveat of potentially disrupting a friendship in a place where companions were scarce. He’d been too cowardly to ask, so morning and night Magerold had been secluding himself so he could shove his fingers and whatever else he had on hand up his backside. The benefit now was that, as he worked some of the drake’s secretions inside himself, his muscles easily opened to accommodate, as eager and primed as his cock had become when he had given himself up to the beast.

“Please, forgive me,” he moaned, hurriedly pulling three fingers inside his asshole open. The drake was still moving against the back of his hand, panting and growling. It prodded him with the head, smearing thick precum and whatever else it flowed with down his wrist. His own prick jumped against his arm, the pulse of sex distractedly powerful. It pushed into him insistently, the growling growing louder.

“I-I'm almost done!”

But it was not going to wait. With a growl that vibrated through Magerold’s whole body, the drake pushed at his hand again, this time with enough force that he withdrew out of fear of being injured. The flared head brushed against him and his hole throbbed in anticipation. He wanted to cower away but inside pushed his hips higher, chest to the dirt, offering himself up.

“Here, that’s it, just, just go easy…”

He wasn't sure why he was even bothering to beg anymore, the drake’s hurried panting burning the back of his neck as it thrust again, this time catching the rim of his hole enough to make it sting before slipping off. This beast had no interest in his comfort, only in the domination and control of its territory, which he was now part of. Its wings caged him to the earth, blocking his vision as the clawed thumbs dug deep wells in the ground. The next time it prodded his ass its angle was better, the head lining up with his asshole exactly, but it was still so much bigger than him that, even hastily stretched, when it pushed urgently into him Magerold was forced to reach up and shield his face from the dirt and stones as the force propelled him along the ground.

Now that it was close, the drake’s excitement grew exponentially. With its hind claws it urged his legs to spread wider, hissing venomously. Its nostrils snuffled against the short crop of hair on the back of his head, taking his hood into its jaws, pressing its muzzle down into the back of his neck to pin him to the ground as it tried again. Magerold whined fearfully, unable to help himself. He didn't have to see the drake’s ripping muscles to feel the strength behind its actions, even as it held itself back to keep from tearing him to pieces beneath it. Slowly but surely, his hole gave, the blunt head of the drake’s massive cock reaming him open. It hurt, unnatural and huge, and for a moment that blind animal panic that had taken him earlier began to set in, removing all thoughts of compromise and playing dead to escape a worse fate, only the singular, potent need to flee remaining.

Then, it popped inside. The drake chuffed happily, and Magerold’s vision went blank. Giving him no rest, the drake hurriedly crammed itself inside, deeper and deeper, beyond any point ever visited previously by a suitor or friend, so deep he was sure it was in his stomach, and Magerold wailed.

The drake began thrusting immediately, following no particular pattern beyond what felt good. It kept him pinned, ensuring his compliance, puffing more electrified heat over him with each push into his ass. Its cock was genuinely enormous, a stretch unlike anything Magerold had ever felt before. He wasn't sure how it wasn't tearing him apart. He wasn't sure how he was taking it without losing his mind, without dying, how it was managing to spear him so bluntly without tearing into the cavity of his gut and destroying his insides. There was no human finesse to the movement, just continuous, forceful battering. Each and every bump and curve he had noted earlier could be felt inside of him, with how wide he was opened, rubbing and grinding mercilessly into his tender walls. The spines, shockingly, did not claw at the thin flesh, but he certainly felt them, every drag outward clinging to him painfully, so much so that he was afraid his insides would be pulled out.

What was worse, though, was the pleasure of it. Whatever cursed part of him had been trained to offer sex in place of torture had managed to turn even this into something sensual. The burning, aching stretch of his hole, the way that no part of him was left unmolested, how the girth of it crushed his prostate brutally with every shift – Magerold’s cock was leaking copiously between his legs, long strings of precum splattering out as his prick bounced along with the drakes thrusts. He felt like he was dying, the pleasure stabbing at his heart. His stomach hurt, like the beasts cock was reaching all the way up to his chest, pounding into him relentlessly no matter how he twisted and cried in its hold. He could not see it, but there was a visible protrusion there, in his gut, every time the drake thrust in deep enough, its cock deforming him out just below his belly button, making the belts on his tunic cut into his skin painfully.

Whatever the fluid was that coated the drake’s sex, it was thick enough now that it pushed out of Magerold’s taut asshole in loud, grotesque dollops, dripping down the back of his balls and glistening on his inner thighs. His hole was a deep, irritated red, the spines of the drake’s cock catching on it and tugging the inflamed muscle. It felt like it was growing inside him too, not just the hypersensitivity of his bowels as they were pummeled into a sleeve for drake dick amplifying the sensation, but actually swelling. Now that it had him firmly pinioned, a second surge of blood began to inflate its cock. Magerold could do nothing but wriggle and cry as his already overtaxed body strained to accommodate more every time he was reentered. The knobs along the shaft swelled in size, so that he could feel each individual one as they scraped along his insides, the head broadening in his stomach to keep it trapped within him even if its wide thrusts never quite withdrew the entire length to begin with. He dug his fingers in the dirt, drooling and blubbering, his legs spread so wide it felt like his pelvis would snap.

As its cock grew in size, the drake’s ferocity too began to increase. The initial wild humping had focused into a more orderly rhythm, drawing even more unfortunate moans from Magerold’s throat. His balls felt swollen with semen, like the pressure in his bowel was squeezing everything he had to near bursting. He was lucky he no longer made use of his stomach or bladder, both of which would surely have emptied by now. His whole lower body may as well have become a sleeve for this creature’s cock, somehow sucking it in hungrily even now. His breathes pitched up, muscles drawing tight, unable to even clench down properly because there was no give at all to the steel hard length inside him. He didn't want to cum, not by this creature’s hand, but there was nothing he could do about it as pleasure welled up inside him, as stifling as the pain it was entwined with.

“No,” he sniveled, more to the gods than to the drake, “no, I cant-!”

Its claws braced in the dirt, the drake fucked into him hard, and Magerold nearly retched as he came. His prick swung back and forth in the momentum of their mating, spewing streams of cum down his chest, dirtying all the precious little medals and papers and rings that jangled from his tunic. The orgasm drew the muscles in his pelvis tight, clamping down around the drake, who drove into him still, uncaring as he quaked. It was awful, the overwhelming amount of stimulation refusing to quit even after he’d spent himself.

“Oh, forgive me! Please forgive me!”

The drake snapped its head about quickly, tugging his hood as its hold tightened. He was beaten to submission by its cock, remnant spouts of jism escaping his prick for the next several thrusts, and even still it wouldn't stop, claiming him fully. It had managed to get deep enough in his ass that he was beginning to feel the bulge of its knot knock his spread buttocks, equally spined and textured as the shaft, if not more so. Magerold couldn't imagine it fitting inside him, didn't want to. He'd thought this was the safer option, that it would hurt less than being shocked again, and perhaps it did, because his lungs still burned in his chest, but now the spasms in his heart were indistinguishable from those caused by terror and he was sure he was going to die like this.

Still it persisted, the grunting growls of the drake echoing in the quake of his bones. The fluid, lubricant, precum, whatever it was, was beginning to accumulate inside him as well as down his thighs, enough now that he could feel it sluggishly sloshing along to their mating. Leaving one hand shielding his face, Magerold’s other grasped at his stomach, instinctively trying to soothe the ache. It didn't help – aside from only adding to the pressure, Magerold was horrified to feel the bump in his gut where the drake’s cock swelled. His startled pleading quickly sharpened into a broken moaning as, perhaps feeling the added tightness where his palm pressed to his belly, the drake pushed in particularly hard and deep, nearly bottoming out to the knot.

As it rode him, the drake snaked its tongue around Magerold’s cheek, lapping up the sweat and tears. Its drool, stinking with death, soaked the collar of his hood, an occasional electric spark zipping across his skin. It was going to cum soon, he realized, horror sinking in his gut. Its movements had increased speed to the point that he could hardly draw breath between them, coring out his sloppy hole to make room for what was coming. Magerold clawed the ground, trying pathetically to crawl away, such a weak attempt that it went wholly unnoticed by the drake, gutterally trilling above him. It thrust in a few more times, hard enough to bruise Magerold’s inside, and then hunched into him with a deafening screech.

Its cum burst forth like a flood, long, burning torrents emptying into his already stuffed bowels all at once. Magerold howled, furiously trying to get away, but the drake, still calling triumphantly, ground into him harder and, suddenly, the spines along its cock inflated. They pricked the abused walls of his hole, digging in to the swollen flesh and holding him totally still for fear of ripping himself to shreds. At the same time the stinging pain irritated his guts, prompting involuntary spasms trying to dislodge the cause. Magerold’s ass clenched uncontrollably, his eyes rolling back as the violent reaction somehow translated to ecstasy in his cross wired brain. The continuous pumping of cum filling his stomach added to the pleasure and anguish, and his cock forced another spurt of his own seed out across his stomach, pathetic when compared to the deluge that was beginning to swell his belly out.

Magerold cupped his stomach with both hands now, crying out as the drake refused to stop. It had not been able to force the bulge of its massive knot inside him, but he could feel it pressing at his hole, insistent in trying. His orgasm wouldn't end, drawn out by the ceaseless prickling of the spines, agonizing. His hips shuddered, his tongue lolled. By the time the drake finally finished spending itself, he was near catatonic, unused to the prolonged frenzy of sensations. His stomach ached, looking mildly pregnant, the skin stretched taut beneath the tight straps of his belts.

The drake pulled its head up, shaking briefly as if clearing away the fog of sex. Still firmly planted in Magerold’s ass, it readjusted its stance, sitting back on its haunches in a more comfortable position, breathing evenly. Magerold, with a low cry, was tugged about each time it shifted, the spines still fastening him to its cock, and each little tug sent torturous aftershocks up his spine, each nearly as strong as an orgasm in their own right. Plump with semen, his asshole wide and red around the drake’s length, he whimpered piteously, ashamed of his condition, ashamed of the stupidity that had led him here, desperately wanting his body to stop clamping down sporadically in its futile attempts to force the cum from his stomach.

Despite this, he was not ready when the drake’s cock finally began to deflate. It happened all at once, as if some switch had been flipped, the pressuring decreasing and the spines softening. It drew back when they were only half relaxed, still gripping him, and Magerold shrieked as he was vacated, dragging along his abused insides harshly before the head caught at the rim. The drake tugged a couple of times, sluggish in its post orgasm repose, Magerold reeling at the way his asshole was pried even wider, and then it popped out, a fountain of cum erupting from his backside. He screamed between his teeth. The drakes cum was thick and gummy, but he was so loosened that even that did not prevent it from squirting out in long, gluttonous bursts. If being filled had confused him with pained pleasure, releasing it all did so doubly, almost like his ass was being turned inside out. His hips bounced against the ground like he was still being fucked. The streams of semen forced him open, simultaneously soothing and antagonizing his raw nerves with mild shocks. It seemed endless, his body too small to contain such a great volume of liquid, pulsing out again and again until he was laying in a puddle of cum, thighs spread, dribbling still as he finally fell into unconsciousness.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Aye, there we go, easy does it.”

Magerold’s eyes fluttered open, squinting to see in the darkness. There was a fire nearby, reflecting dimly off the gold dome in front of him.

“You're alright now, breathe easy.”

They were in a cave. He was laying with his back propped up against the wall, and Domhnall was squatted in front of him, his grotesque helmet’s ever present grin almost ghoulish in the lighting, but, as Magerold’s thoughts caught up to him, still the most beautiful thing he could think of at the moment.

“I-”

Before he could say anything, a distant bellow echoed through the stones, the drakes in the valley, not too far off. He leapt forward, gripping at Domhnall’s tunic, sheer terror giving him strength even though the lower half of his body felt like it had been crushed to a pulp.

“Oh, dear me,” said Domhnall casually, petting Magerold’s back where he huddled in, “They won’t get to you here, don't you worry.”

He was immediately mortified by his cowardice, and then, as realization dawned on him, everything else about the situation. In fact, his leggings, a gluey mess, were still around his knees, his cock rubbing on Domhnall's thigh.

He couldn't bring himself to pull away though.

“I'm just,” he swallowed, his mouth still cottony, “how did you know?”

“I just happened to be passing through,” Domhnall said, awfully cheery for the situation, “nothing more.”

As his eyes adjusted, Magerold realized he was once again in full possession of his vision, and a quick squint of his left eye confirmed that Domhnall had replaced his monocle. It was something small, yet indescribably meaningful in ways he was not prepared to understand until he was considerably healed. Instead he used his restored sight to give the small enclosure a closer look, from his position pressed to Domhnall’s chest. There wasn’t much to look at in terms of natural splendor aside from rocks and moss, but there was a great sword of sorts propped against the wall behind them, fascinatingly encrusted with crystals. Were he in better spirits, Magerold could have spent hours admiring it, discovering each and every intricacy of its forging, but now he was simply content to stare. The stones seemed to shine with magic, indecipherable as they were enchanting. They reflected the light of the nearby bonfire beautifully, even coated with fresh blood as they were.

“Well I, I should still thank you,” Magerold said, hoarse and quiet from all the screaming. He sat back finally, grimacing as he did so and using his feet to cushion his buttocks. The movement produced a wet sound, a fat glob of drake jism lazily pushing out of his wrecked hole. He was suddenly keenly aware of how much pain he was in, the way his lower back felt liquefied inside his skin, as well as the fact that his asshole was gaping open. He looked away from his friend, trying to weakly clench down and only managing a weak twitch of the muscles, and another audible squelch of cum being released between his legs. Domhnall, bless him, did not react.

“We can worry about thanks later,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “For now, you need to rest up! Luckily for us, there was already a nice little fire burning when I arrived.”

“Where are we?” asked Magerold, holding back another flinch as the drakes continued to call below. He could tell they were far away, but it didn't stop his prostate from throbbing in memory.

“Darkroot,” Domhnall said, “in the basin. There's more than one way to reach the valley, it seems!”

Magerold nodded along, not really remembering where that was. He was still stuck on the idea that Domhnall had come across him defiled like that, his shameful, spread bottom displayed to the world. Tamping the front of his tunic down to cover himself, Magerold tried to smile.

“I suppose I should have listened to your advice better.”

“Perhaps,” Domhnall said simply.

Shifting uncomfortably, Magerold glanced over at the crackling fire. He was quaking just from the effort of holding himself up, but he didn’t feel comfortable simply taking a nap with his ass out in front of Domhnall, not while he was still so exposed. It was bad enough he’d needed saving, interrupting whatever quest his friend was on with his failure. His self pitying was interrupted, however, by Domhnall sitting down heavily, a great, relaxed sigh steaming from the carved mouth of his armet.

“Well, things will heal up faster if you lay yourself down.”

Seeing Magerold’s hesitation, he waved him off, chuckling softly.

“Oh, don’t give me that look! I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“That’s not,” Magerold darted closer, leaning in on his hands and knees.

“I’d never accuse you of such a thing, Dom! Just a bit worried about, ah,” and he shifted back again, trying to keep his ass to the floor, “I’m unfamiliar with these parts. Wouldn’t want anyone coming up on us unprepared!”

“You might not be, but I am. Close your eyes and don’t think on it for now. I’ll keep watch.”

He raised up his index finger, a sign Magerold didn’t quite know but understood implicitly.

“Traveler's promise.”

He really was tired. As terrible as everything was at the moment, there wasn’t much that could be done in this sorry state. Magerold scooted back, easing down onto one side, facing Domhnall, head closest to the fire. His companion tutted once more.

“They may be old and withered, but these legs make for a finer pillow than any cave floor.”

Magerold looked up at him bewildered by the sudden spate of kindnesses.

“You mean it?”

Domhnall cocked his head.

“I’m a businessman, lad; I wouldn’t make an offer I wasn’t willing to back.”

No one had been this tender with him since he’d left Lanafir, but back home such physical acts of companionship had been common. Despite himself, Magerold found it surprisingly easy to settle his head into Domhnall’s lap, the warm scent of fresh linens embracing him like a memory. He half expected an explanation from his friend, but Domhnall was not interested in removing even a shade of the mystique that colored him. Instead he leaned back comfortably against the wall and began to hum, something light and reedy. There was something familiar about the tune, thought he could not place it, and it didn’t bother him at all.

It took him a while, but he slept, and when he awoke Domhnall was still there, and that was more than he could have asked of anyone.


End file.
